Natural--The Bullpen
by Noisseau
Summary: "What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies." --Aristotle--


Title- Natural: The Bullpen  
  
Author- Noisseau--imhis1in5billion@hotmail.com  
  
Rating- G  
  
Spoilers- Sixth Season, Tooms, How the Ghost Stole Christmas  
  
Keywords- Mulder/Scully Romance, Other POV  
  
Summary- "What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies."   
--Aristotle--  
  
Archive- Gossamer, Fanfiction.net, nowhere else without contacting me  
  
Author's Note- This is the first of a series (at least I'm planning a  
series). The idea popped into my head when I was   
listening to the soundtrack of "Fiddler on the Roof."   
In the song "Sunrise, Sunset," Perchek sings the first  
line of this story, and I immediately thought of our  
favorite duo. So, it has developed into a possible  
series of different perspectives of Mulder and Scully.  
I hope you enjoy it!  
  
  
**********  
  
  
They look so natural together.  
  
Never in all my years as an FBI agent have I witnessed a partnership   
so close as theirs. Come to think of it, they remind me a lot of my   
husband and I; after all this time, we're still in love.  
  
The way they move together, the looks they give each other. It's like   
a symbiosis--interdependent, but separate.   
  
They don't belong here, that's obvious. The bullpen is for new agents,   
those past their prime, and those being punished. If asked, I'd guess   
the later for these two. I've heard rumors about them; he's supposed   
to be some kind of madman, chasing after shadows and lights in the sky.   
  
I remember when he first joined the Bureau. He was so young and   
arrogant, almost aloof; he was blindingly intelligent with a caustic   
wit, and so closed off emotionally. He wouldn't let anyone get close   
to him, though no one really wanted to anyway; they were afraid of him,   
jealous of his ability. They got their laughs by calling him "Spooky,"   
both trying to get a rise out of him and to belittle him, as if they   
could make themselves look better. He tried to ignore them, always   
keeping his carefully constructed façade of the "defiant wunderkind"   
in place. But his eyes--those beautiful, smoky, hazel eyes--the hurt was   
so evident to me there, the bitterness and distrust.   
  
He's an interesting paradox, that boy; so mistrustful by default, but   
with just a small amount of effort, interest, and kindness on your   
part, he'll open up completely, trust outrightly.   
  
He was always so kind and courteous to me in every case we   
collaborated on. I even invited him to dinner with my husband and I   
a few years ago, but he begged for a rain check, saying he and his   
partner had some paperwork to catch up on from their last case;   
something about a liver-eating stretchy man, I heard.   
  
Anyway, that was after she, his partner, came on the scene. She was   
rather innocent, I think, when they first met, so sure that she knew   
what the world was all about. That poor girl was hit broadside by him!   
  
Not that she was taken in by his blind passion, nor put off by his   
bluster, oh, no!   
  
I think part of her took him as a most exciting challenge; it's not unlike   
when I used to tell my daughter not to climb the big oak tree in our   
back yard because the branches were too high. I'd catch her time and   
again trying to wrap her small arms around the thick trunk, doing her   
darndest to overcome the tree's formidable obstruction. Trying to   
scare her away from the task only made her more determined.  
  
That's exactly how his partner was and is. When he tried, at first,   
to push her away, she dug her heels in, gritted her teeth, and held on for   
dear life. What surprised us all the most was how quickly he began to   
pull her in rather than push her away. Suddenly, Mulder had this   
beautiful, intelligent, and persistent woman at his side; and no one,   
no matter how hard they tried, could come between them.  
  
I tell you, if looks could kill, the scathing glares that that pair   
received from the jealous Bureau population would have buried them many   
times over. But wonder of wonders, the looks, verbal arrows, and even   
physical blows bounced right off the shell of their mutual trust.   
  
I may be approaching middle age, but I'm not senile yet, and I am far   
from naïve. I have eyes; I can see the trouble those two get into at   
every turn, the pain that's inflicted on them so often. I know   
there's something much larger than me going on under cover of   
darkness; I know the fight that that partnership has claimed as its   
own. Even now, when they're being punished for discovering too much   
of the truth, they seem to take some triumph in their small defiances.  
  
There they are now, those two demoted crusaders of truth, returning   
from lunch to the *stimulating* task of several hundred more   
background checks. My desk is situated half way between the elevator and their   
"oar slots" in this slave barge. I pause now to watch them.  
  
The pair stops by the coat rack. He removes her overcoat, then his   
own, and smooths an imaginary wrinkle from her suit coat. It's merely   
an excuse to touch her, I know. Don't misunderstand me; Mulder is the   
epitome of "gentleman," but that's just his way--he's a tactile kind   
of guy, especially with his partner.   
  
She gives him a brief, radiant smile, and for a moment they gaze at   
one another (oh yes, they *do* gaze)--that's that great eye thing they   
do; amazing communication, these two. Something passes between them,   
something an outsider cannot interpret, but anyone can see the   
tremendous feeling that exists there. Then they turn as one back to   
the bullpen, professional faces firmly back in place, and begin to   
walk down the aisle.   
  
There it is again; his hand is always at her back. It's not a control   
thing, I don't think; more like a reassurance. I suppress a giggle as  
I see them fall into step with one another; always in sync, those two.   
  
They smile as they near me and ask if I am well. "Surviving the   
grind," I comment, with a tired smile. "And you?"  
  
Their glances flicker quickly to one another, and Scully responds,   
"We're keeping busy."   
  
A good answer, my dear, safe for whoever might be listening, but an   
obvious message to those who know what's what. I certainly heard   
rumors about that last weirdness they were involved in over Christmas.   
Something about ghosts.  
  
We exchange knowing looks, and they continue on. I see Mulder lean   
down to speak softly into his partner's ear. The patented eyebrow   
shoots up, but her expression is belayed by the way her shoulders   
shake with barely contained laughter. She smirks covertly up at him, and his   
eyes beam triumphantly.  
  
They seat themselves at their separate desks, exchange parting smiles,   
and dive back into the wonders of John Doe #17's possible drug history.  
  
I lean back in my swivel chair and sigh.   
  
There's no denying it. They are natural together.   
  
  
**********  
  
Well, that's it for now, folks.....You know what I want....that's   
right, FEEDBACK! Constructive criticism will be appreciated! ;-)  
  
**********  
  
"A friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."   
--Walter Winchell--  
  
"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not  
only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."  
--C. S. Lewis--"The Weight of Glory"--  
  
  
"You are the call and I am the answer,  
You are the wish, and I the fulfilment,  
You are the night, and I the day.  
What else - it is perfect enough.  
It is perfectly complete,  
You and I,  
What more--?  
  
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this."  
--D. H. Lawrence--  
  
  
Scully: "He had *big buck teeth*?"  
Mulder: "He had a slight overbite."  
Scully: "No, he didn't! And that's significant, how?"  
Mulder: "I'm just trying to be thourough." 


End file.
